


Tangled Webs

by MauveCat



Series: Family Snapshots [7]
Category: Endless Summer (Visual Novel)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MauveCat/pseuds/MauveCat
Summary: Quinn meets someone who has questions.
Series: Family Snapshots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729411
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Tangled Webs

Frowning thoughtfully, Quinn minimized the spreadsheet and flipped back to the Foundation Directory's website. She tapped in a few different keywords and scrolled through the results. _Yes._ “That's better,” she murmured. The new search easily gave her twice as many possible places to apply for grants. She began copying the information over to her spreadsheet – she'd already been off to a decent start and with these new sources, her goal was getting closer by the day.

She kept her eyes on her laptop as she fumbled her notebook out of the messenger bag slung over the back of the chair. She set it down by the stack of library books at her elbow and scribbled down the information for some of the most likely contacts – she'd submit formal grant applications through the approved channels, of course, but it never hurt to find someone in the organization to talk with as well. She'd had a lot of luck that way.

Her laptop pinged – a new email. Quinn smiled when she saw who it was from and she opened it immediately. She'd never realized that Grace had such an artistic eye, and she turned out to be the perfect choice to help fine-tune a logo for the Kelly Foundation. After tossing ideas back and forth for months, Quinn decided on a stylized dolphin with a crown of stars – Taylor's constellation. Andromeda. She had a watercolor version already hanging in her bedroom but she wanted something simpler and easier to reproduce that she could use in publicity materials.

“Excuse me. Aren't you Quinn Kelly?”

Startled, she looked up at the young man standing on the other side of the library table. Not bad looking, nice shoulders. Dark hair. “You're asking me?”

“Well....” The man shrugged and gave her a bashful smile that immediately put Quinn on her guard. She'd seen that look before. She'd practically invented that look. “They told me to look for the pretty redhead with all the books.”

“So by process of elimination....” Quinn made a show of looking around the library's reading room. It wasn't crowded, but there were people nearby in case he turned out to be a problem. “Looks like that's me. Have we met?”

“I'd hope that you'd remember me if we had.” He gave the empty chair a questioning nod. “Is it okay if I sit down for a minute?”

Quinn thought it over for a second. “Sure, why not? But only if you give me your name.”

“Matt Critelli.” He held out his hand; Quinn shook it, and kept her face neutral when he took a few seconds too long to release her. She put her laptop to sleep and closed her notebook. She fiddled with her phone for a moment then sat in silence, waiting for him to make his move.

After a few awkward moments, Matt laughed and sat down. “You probably get hit on a lot – I don't blame you for being careful. I promise, I'm here on business.”

“What kind of business?” Quinn gave him a blandly encouraging smile.

It worked. It usually did. Matt relaxed into the chair and said, “I'm a reporter. I'm working on a story about young entrepreneurs and your name came up.”

“You're actually a reporter? Oh, _wow._ Who are you with?” Quinn was suspicious – she'd only recently filed the necessary paperwork for her foundation's startup so the only way to find out about it would be to search for her specifically – but she didn't want to tip her hand right away.

Matt shrugged. “Most of my stuff is online. Honestly, I'm still trying to make a name for myself. That's why I really hope I can interview you for my article. I mean, look at you! Barely out of college and starting your own foundation – that's pretty impressive. And the subject is... um, well....”

“Not as girly as most people would expect from someone like me?” She kept her voice light and teasing.

“I wouldn't have put it that way, but yeah. It's a good angle for my story. Not many people are interested in orphan diseases at all. Did you decide to start a foundation to raise money for medical research?”

“That's a big part of it, definitely. But we also want to provide resources for community support, counseling, family respite programs – there's a lot that people don't think about until someone in their family gets sick like I did.”

Matt nodded. “Right. It was....” He stared away, then snapped his fingers. Oh, he was _not_ a good actor. “Rotterdam's Syndrome, wasn't it?”

Quinn concentrated on playing along. “That's right. I was diagnosed when I was practically a toddler. My parents tried all kinds of treatments. By the time I went to college, I was in remission.”

“College.” Matt's eyes lit up and beneath the table, Quinn curled her hand into a fist. She walked right into that one. “I saw in your background file that you went to Hartfeld. What was that like?”

Glad that she'd decided to wear something with a little cleavage, Quinn leaned forward. She smiled at the way Matt's eyes automatically dropped to her chest, but she knew how to make a smile look like she was interested. She had years of practice when it came to hiding what was going on inside. “Oh, it was so much fun. I had a great time!”

“...Uh-huh.” Matt dragged his eyes back up. “And didn't you win a trip or something before your senior year?”

“I sure did, along with some other students.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Some of them were _so_ hot. All kinds of things went wrong and we got stuck there, but...” Shrugging, she went on. “As far as I was concerned, nothing wrong with a few extra months to party. _You_ know what I mean, right?”

“I hope so.” Matt's eyes widened. “I mean... did anything happen there that struck you as important?”

“Oh, _definitely_. For one thing, I learned that picking the right sunscreen really matters, you know? You wouldn't believe some of the places I burned. In fact, I still – ” Right on time, her phone chimed and she let her face fall. “Oh, damn. I've got to finish up here and get moving. I have an appointment for a massage and I could really use one.”

Matt blinked a few times. “Oh. Oh, okay. Could I have your number? For the interview,” he finished in a rush.

“Well, it's really not safe for a girl to give her number to just anyone. But here.” Quinn turned her notebook to a blank page and slid it over the table, along with a new pen she pulled out of her bag. “Give me yours, and... I'll be in touch.”

Quinn watched him go, memorizing as many details about him as possible. Once he was gone, she kept working for a few more minutes to make sure she'd saved everything. No matter what had just happened, she wasn't going to waste a whole afternoon's work. She hopped online to make sure her regular salon could fit her in for an emergency pedi – good thing it was only a few blocks away – then she crammed everything in her messenger bag and headed out. As she left the library, she looked around casually. She was grateful Jake and Estela had taught her how to scope out an area without being obvious about it; it only took her a few seconds to see the back of Matt's jacket across the street. Pressing her lips together, she walked to the salon.

As she was checking in, she looked out the salon's window. Matt was waiting outside; still on the other side of the street, pretending to play on his phone. She leaned across the desk. “Hey, Shar, could you do me a huge favor?”

“For you, honey, anything.” They looked up with a friendly smile.

Quinn tilted her head casually at the window. “That dark-haired guy out there in the green jacket?” She waited for Shar's confirming nod. “I just ran into him at the library and I'm not sure but I think he's following me. I hate to jump to conclusions, but... you know?”

Shaking their head, the receptionist gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, I hate that. Want me to keep an eye on him?”

“Shar, you're the best.”

A little while later, Shar came back to where Quinn sat soaking her feet. “Coast is clear, darling. He waited a few minutes, then he got into a rideshare and left. Want me to call someone to see you home?” they asked.

“No, I think he got the message. I could use some advice, though.” She lifted one foot from the water. “Should I stay with the pink, or try something brighter?”

* * *

Later, Quinn closed her apartment door behind her and locked it. She sent Shar a quick text to say she'd arrived home safely, then dumped her bag on the floor.

“Prrrmph!”

Quinn looked around at the welcoming chirp. “Furball! There you are.” The ice fox trotted over to her and bumped against her shins affectionately. “Ready for a cuddle?” She held out her arms and the fox jumped up, rubbing his face against hers. “Whoooof.” Wrinkling her nose, Quinn pulled back a little. “I was going to ask if you wanted supper but you took care of that already, didn't you?” She always left a window open so Furball could come and go as he pleased, and there didn't seem to be a rat left within a two-block radius. They'd had a long talk and he seemed to be leaving the local cat population alone now, at least.

Falling into her couch, Quinn set Furball aside and pulled out her phone. Zahra picked up just as it was going to voicemail. “Made it!” she said breathlessly. “Ten points to me.”

“Hey, Zahra, how's it going?”

“Living the dream. Writing some code, my band has gigs lined up for the next five weekends, found a new shade of black for my hair.”

“I still wish I could see it blonde one day.”

“Nope. Been there, done that, purged all the blonde from my soul. What's up with you?”

“Grace and I think we have the final version for the Kelly Foundation logo – I'll send it around to everyone later. I have something else we should probably look into, though.”

“We means me, doesn't it?”

“I'm afraid so.” Quinn briefly described the encounter at the library and read off the phone number Matt gave her. “It might be nothing but I'd feel better if you looked into his background. Oh, if you want his fingerprints for anything, I saved the pen he used.”

Zahra chuckled. “Way to go, Secret Agent Girl. You've got good instincts, Quinn, and if you're worried, I'm worried. And it's always fishy when someone pops up asking about the island.”

“Better safe than sorry, right?”

“That's gonna be my new tattoo.”

Laughing, Quinn ruffled Furball's pelt. “You're running out of room. You're going to look like a Vaanti soon.”

“Working on it.” Zahra paused, then went on. “You feel safe where you are? Because I can send some muscle over to you.”

“No, Craig can stay where he is. It's just... I'm not the only one of the Catalysts in the area but it looks like he came to me first. Zahra, why does everyone always think I'm the weakest link?”

Zahra answered immediately. “Because they don't know you. They see the dimples and the boobs and they stop there. Trust me, you're a lot tougher than you look – even without the green zaps.”

“Awww. That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.” They talked for a few more minutes and said their goodbyes. Quinn put her phone down and looked at Furball. “Maybe you had your supper, but I'm starving. Should I cook or order in?” The fox whuffed. “Chinese it is.”

That evening, Quinn stood in her bedroom and shook out her comforter to fluff it up. No matter the season, she always slept with plenty of covers because of Furball; even in the middle of August, any room he was in turned a good ten degrees cooler, more if he was agitated about something. At least it saved money on air conditioning.

Sliding into her bed, Quinn debated for a moment if she was in the mood for goose down or memory foam before she chose her pillow for the night, and she sighed at the sensation of crisp linen sheets against her legs. The others always teased her for how much she spent on sheets and blankets and pillows, the highest quality she could find. She'd just laugh and say something like, “I really like sleeping!”

It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Quinn loved sleep because she knew what it was to go without. One of the symptoms of Rotterdam's was respiratory problems. That meant sleep apnea, and that meant waking up a few times a night, every night. Her college roommates used to tease her for snoring, and Quinn decided to go along with it. There was no reason for them to know that she died a little bit a few times a night, every night. Now that she was healthy, a full eight hours of sleep was all she needed to be in heaven.

Just as she was drifting off, her phone rang. Blearily, she fumbled around for it; at this hour there were only a few people whose calls or texts made it past her “do not disturb” filter and not answering wasn't an option. Furball grumbled in protest as she propped herself up on one arm. “H'lo.”

“Hey, Quinn. Got an answer for you.” Zahra. She didn't sound happy.

“'Kay. Give me a second.” Quinn switched on her bedside lamp and took a quick gulp of water. She sat up and leaned back against the tufted headboard. “What did you find?”

“Well, your Matthew Critelli checks out, but only if your definition of 'journalist' is really generous. He's got a podcast. This is the guy, right?”

Quinn heard a few quick keystrokes, and then a new voice, just a little distorted by the speakers on Zahra's computer. She listened for a few seconds to make sure. “Yeah, it sure sounds like him... hey, is he talking about chemtrails?”

“Yuuup.” Zahra's computer went silent. “I've listened to bits and pieces of his podcast and this one seems pretty typical. Doesn't seem to be a true believer, though. More of a dabbler – talks about cell towers, taking the red pill, the occasional cryptid sighting – you know, the usual. He doesn't seem to stick with anything long, though, and he doesn't get too worked up about anything in particular. It's not personal for him – he's picked up some buzzwords but he doesn't believe in them. If you ask me, he's just in it to make some money. Constantly asking for new subscribers, creating sockpuppets to push his channel, selling merch – typical wannabe poser shit.”

Relaxing a little, Quinn patted her lap. Furball hopped over and curled up, wrapping himself into a tight ball. Quinn buried the fingers of her free hand in his cool blue pelt. “So you're saying I should just lose his number?” There was no answer. “Zahra?”

“Actually, there's more. No criminal record, so that's good. Next I went digging into his financials. Ton of student debt, of course, like practically everyone else our age so no judgment there – double major in journalism and marketing. Decent grades. Poor guy doesn't know how to negotiate an auto loan, though, and it got repossessed a few months ago. Works in a grocery store stockroom in the morning, bartends at night and it looks like he depends on his podcast for revenue – oh, and speaking of revenue, he isn't declaring that income on his taxes. That might catch up with him but I won't narc on him unless I have to. He's got enough regular subscribers to pad out his regular paychecks. Most of them just send a couple of bucks a month, or they buy stickers or mugs. A few people are more generous. One is his grandma, bless her heart, but there's one... well, we could have a problem.”

“What kind of a problem?” Quinn's hand stilled, and Furball shoved his cold little snout against her palm. She began stroking his soft ears and his eyes closed in bliss.

“Critelli's got what he calls the Diamond Tier for his subscribers – a little pretentious, but okay. There's only one person who fell for it. Someone named Tina Hanson is forking over a couple hundred a month. Thing is, though, Tina Hanson doesn't exist.”

Quinn closed her eyes. “Oh, no. So you went looking for her.”

“You know me so well.” Zahra's voice was grim. “For an amateur, Tina made a good attempt at covering herself but it only took me a few minutes to track her down. The signup email and bank account she uses both trace back to one Christina Langenfelt – Hanson was her mother's maiden name. She's been messaging and emailing Critelli for the past few months and they just started talking on the phone a couple weeks ago. Used her own phone, didn't even have enough sense to pick up a cheap burner somewhere,” she said scornfully. “And I don't expect everyone to have the kind of encryption I put on all our phones and computers but she could at least _try._ Anyway. You wanna guess what she's been pushing him to look into?”

“...Us.”

“Got it in one. I'd make you guess where she used to work, but it's late and I've got a few more calls to make tonight and I'm running on caffeine fumes already. From 2012 to 2018, assistant to one of the VPs assigned to Administration and Finances – specialized in PR and Communications – at Rourke International. She resigned when Al cleaned house. Did you hear the air quotes when I said 'resigned'?”

Quinn sighed. “Loud and clear. Do... do you think she's working with Rourke?”

Zahra's chair creaked. “Doesn't seem to be. He's only allowed a few visitors and she doesn't match any of them – and no obvious connections to any verified visitors that I could find. Prison records don't show any sign of correspondence, either. The VP she worked with resigned last year – no air quotes this time, the guy made it through the purge with no problems. He looks clean and I can believe that he wanted to spend more time with his grandkids. I looked them up on their mom's Facebook and even I think they're adorable. So I'm hoping Langenfelt's nothing more than a bitter former employee with a grudge, but I'm not about to take any chances. I want to find out what projects she was working on at RI but Estela and Al are friends so I'm going to give them a heads-up before I go digging any more. They'll probably pull IRIS in too and she'd be a lot quicker about it than I would, so I'll suggest it if they don't. I still plan on briefing the rest of the family tomorrow so we all know to be on our guard.”

Trying to be optimistic, Quinn said, “I guess it won't be the first time reporters have tried to pry into what happened on La Huerta. Sean's gotten so good at not talking about it during his press conferences that they hardly bother to ask him anymore. Maybe this will blow over soon if we keep on not responding to any questions.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I didn't convince you, did I?”

“Look, Quinn, I _want_ to believe that it's really that simple – I want to think that we're just dealing with someone who isn't nearly as smart as she thinks she is. But we need to consider the possibility that what we have is someone who's smart enough to give us an obvious false trail to follow. Or hell, it could be somebody behind her who's playing the long game.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I _always_ look for the long game. I'll be in touch.” The phone went dead.

Quinn stared at the screen. Then, with a sigh, she put her phone next to her pillow and tried to get comfortable. Furball huffed impatiently as he was jostled yet again. “Sorry, sweetie. C'mere.” The fox snuggled against her shoulder and was asleep in seconds. Resting her cheek against his fur, Quinn raised her hand to switch off the lamp but she hesitated and after a few moments of inner debate, she left the light on.

It wasn't like she'd sleep tonight, anyway.


End file.
